Living on a Prayer
by Clairesuperlocked
Summary: John is trying to convince himself that Sherlock is really dead. But a text on his phone, proves him wrong.
1. Long Distance Texts

He had come back. How? I hadn't found out, yet. But I am just a doctor. It's him who has the aim to find things out.

I hadn't come back in Baker Street; that place held too many memories and it opened scars I was hardly trying to sew up. That "One more miracle" I had asked for, was working.

During the time he was away, I tried to adjust myself being without him. It was hard. He usually was silent but his absence made it all even more silent, if possible. No one seemed to understand. Everyone always said I had to move on and find some other partner to share the flat with. But they didn't know Sherlock was more than a flat-mate. He was my friend, or maybe more.

I spent most of the time working at the hospital trying to keep my mind away. At night I ran to sleep almost straight away, most of the time without eating my dinner. But that image of him falling down the St. Barth's literally facing his death, pervaded my mind every time I closed my eyes. The sounds of the sirens so high my ears hurt. I saw me, standing still. No ways I could helped him. Every night, same story. Same nightmare. And every night, helplessly, I got up, dressed up and went to the bar just at the corner of the street, to drink the night away. I barely cared about my personal hygiene anymore. I used to be so drunk I couldn't remember whether if I still lived at the 221B Baker St. or not. Sometimes people carried me to Baker St. and the morning after, I found myself sleeping on Sherlock's bed. And with an hangover.

Months went by. My pain didn't seem to sooth down. A small moustache had grown on my face but the pain was filling each and any inch of my body so strongly, that if breathing weren't an un-conscious action, I wouldn't be doing that either. I had no strength to fight it back. I just wanted it all to be over. Molly had phoned a few times but I didn't really wanted to listen to her. Her voice was always linked to Sherlock's. Lestrade had sent Sherlock's belongings to Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson had sent them back to my new flat. From that day on, that box was still placed right next to the door where the postman had placed it. I didn't want to open it. His name written in red capital letters, next to it a label: "Closed Case. Suicide. Greg Lestrade signature." That label hurt me the most. As if Lestrade had put it there on purpose. My blog was rarely updated. There wasn't _something _to update it with. The only post I was thinking of was _"Sherlock's still dead. No updates." _But bothering my 1895 readers with some more Sherlock Holmes's news, wasn't a great idea. I didn't get out that much, if it wasn't for job or to go get wasted in the bar. I didn't eat that much so the things in the cupboards were enough to sustain myself. But whenever I went out, I always felt stared at. As there was a sniper ready to shoot me from some window. But I thought it was due to the fact I wasn't taking my meds anymore.

That morning, Sarah decided to give me a day off work. She must had seen I was too torn to focus on work. I had gotten up early, sleeping was pointless if I just kept on waking up. The mirror on the wall showed a wrecked me. The moustache still growing on my upper lip. I touched it gently and smiled a little "_Who knows if Sherlock liked it." _I said, as if someone could hear it. I shook my head as I heard my phone's vibration. It should've been Molly, again. I grabbed my phone and juggled with it a bit before reading the message. It only contained four words. _"I don't. SH." _ "What the bloody hell?" I said, throwing the phone away. It was impossible. It couldn't be him. "It's Mycroft." I said to myself. "Mycroft's playing again. Don't worry." I kept on repeating to myself. I tried to focus myself on some paperwork, to delete the thought of that text from my mind. But I couldn't. Someway, I wanted it to be who I was hoping it was. What if it was really _him? _What if he was alive? Too many 'what if's?" pervaded my mind. What if Sherlock was really back?


	2. Windin' down to Baker Street

It seemed like there were no more messages that day. Only that one. My mind was still trying to understand if I believed Sherlock was back or not. _"Sleep on it." _, the angel on my shoulder said. _"What if your nightmare comes back?" _, the devil replied. There was one and only one way to stop the two little creatures on my shoulders from fighting: go towards that bar again. As soon as I stood up, closing down the laptop, another text appeared on my phone _"Still waiting. You know where to find me. SH." _Every atom of my body felt the urge to run where I knew I'd find him, but I let my mind take control. I found my coat and wore it. I went out my flat under a rainy London night. I cried myself a cab; "New Scotland Yard, please."

As soon as the wheels started moving, my eyes fixed on the glass. Water drops were streaming down. I followed two of them with my eyes. And as those little drops were chasing each other, I saw Sherlock and I. The drop arrived first, was Sherlock falling down. The second one, followed only two seconds later but too late. Funny how we can compare our lives to the smallest things. Our lives themselves are little things. The deep thought was soon cancelled by the cabbie. "Scotland Yard, gentleman. Are you going to get off or..?"I cleared my throat, in evident discomfort. "Yes. Sorry."I handed him some pounds "Keep the charge. Thank you." And after nodding politely, I got off.

Heavy rain was still pouring down as I pulled myself up the stairs. "Excuse me. Who are you?" asked a bobby. "I'm.. John Watson. I'm willing to speak to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." I nodded again, trying to get my way. "In what regard, if I may?" he replied. I sighed, of course he wouldn't believe me if I told him _"Sherlock Holmes texted me twice_." "I might have some updates for a case he's working on. Please. Let me through." He must had seen my hopeful look so he nodded. "Cheers." I replied to his nod and got my way up to Greg's office. "Lestrade!" I cried along the way. "Lestrade!" I repeated, stopping at his door, before knocking. Sergeant Donovan opened the door. After a brief exchange looks, she looked towards Lestrade. "The freak's companion is back." She cried. Lestrade welcomed me in with a giggle. "John Watson. What brings you here?" he showed a hint of a smile. I glanced at his head, noticing a few hair missing but then I turned back to his eyes, accepting to sit down. "See, Detective…" I looked around, still seeking the right words. How to explain to a D.I. that a dead man had actually texted me? I sighed, not able to pick the exact words to begin my sentence with. I just extended my phone to him. Lestrade took it and frowned as his eyes gazed on the screen. "You can't be serious, Watson." Greg's expression had turned into a frown as soon as the phone vibrated again. _"Hello Lestrade. Long time no see. Ps: grow your hair back. SH." _ I let out a small grin. Now he had the proof I wasn't lying. "See? That's the third." Lestrade sighed in defeat and handed the phone to Donovan. "Let Anderson track the number down." Sally glared at Lestrade, "You gotta be kidding me, Greg." Her statement received a disappointed frown in reply. "I'm not kidding, Sergeant Donovan. Let. Anderson. Track. The. Number." Lestrade said, spelling each word as if he were talking to Sally through a glass. Sergeant Donovan nodded and left the room, directing herself in the lab. While I was waiting for the bloody phone on Lestrade's desk to ring, the minutes were like hours. "Do you want a cup of tea while waiting, John?" I nodded "Yes. Yes please." Lestrade approached the tea machine and brew two teas. He then added some sugar and handed one cup to me. "Cheers." I smiled a little and took a sip. "Seen the cup where I put your tea in?" Greg pointed out. "What about it?" I frowned, focusing on the cup. "Funny, Lestrade. Really funny." Greg giggled. The cup read _"I'm just a high functioning sociopath." _I put the cup down. Drinking from it was now discomforting. "world won't stop producing those little cute gadgets since… you know. He fell." "Yeah. Right." I cleared my throat. A sudden ring coming from Lestrade's desk phone interrupted the conversation. "Lestrade." Said, picking up the receiver, he nodded as the person spoke. "Right. Thanks." He then added and put his receiver back in place. "It was Anderson." - "and?" – "and he tracked the number down and located it in Baker Street." My eyes went wide as he pronounced those last two words. "Baker Street." I repeated to myself, almost unbelieving it. "Baker Street… he's in Baker Street." Lestrade rolled his eyes "He or someone's playing up with you. Someone who knows your weak spot, John." I stood up, shaking my head. "Mrs Hudson wouldn't let anyone it but me or Sherlock. So either she's learnt to text in the 'Sherlock way' – I said gesturing speech comas with my hands – "or Sherlock is in that flat. How? Don't ask me. I know what you're thinking, Lestrade. Go and laugh about it with Sergeant Donovan. With all due respect, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm seriously willing to go at Baker Street and you are not going to stop me." I nodded and left the building. I didn't know exactly what to feel. I called myself a taxi. The rain had stopped. "Baker Street, please." I commanded. He left and drove up to my destination. "Here is fine." I said, handing some pounds. "Thanks" we both said and I got off, walking to the 221B as my legs were shaking. I knocked. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and welcomed me with an hug. "It's been a long time!" I smiled at her actions. "Yes. I know. Didn't want to come back for some reasons." She nodded. "The things are still there. No-one had touched them since. I'm just a landlady. Not a housekeeper." I nodded smiling "Yes. I do remember. May I? I think I had forgotten something." "Sure! Make yourself at home. After all, this is still your home." I nodded, walking upstairs. Before knocking, I made sure Mrs. Hudson was already back in her apartment. I knocked and waited. I knocked again and waited some more. Then I pushed the door and realized it was open. I pushed it some more studying my surroundings. That place, of course, was bringing memories back. My eyes then fixed on the couch. What I was staring at, was a back of an head. "Excuse me." I cleared my throat and the man on the couch turned his head.


	3. I'm going back to the start

The man I found, was definitely who I expected him to be. He stood up and walked towards me. His blue eyes cutting through me. He adjusted his blue tie as he spoke. "John Watson. Ah! It's so easy to find your weak spots. Long time no see." Said him, sitting down again, helping himself a cup of freshly brewed tea. He then added. "For a moment I thought you had re-joined my younger brother." He smiled at me, mixing tea and sugar with a spoon. _How had he found Sherlock's mobile? _I frowned as the question came up in my mind. He frowned back. "What is it, Watson?" I shook my head and with a whisper said his name. "Mycroft." He smiled, nodding. "Yes. That's my name. Or so they say." Added with a shrug of his shoulders. "Why, Mycroft? Why would you play with someone's feelings like that? Claiming you are who you're not?" I sighed, closing my eyes, fighting the tears. Wishing it was just one more nightmare. That I'd be waking up soon still in my bed, with a glass of whiskey on the bedside. But it was real. Every cell of my body was convincing me it was real. "Because you see, John. That's what I do." He grinned, taking a sip from one of Sherlock's old cups. "Actually, I wanted to make sure you are _still _fine and you haven't given up _yet. _I know my little brother _was _so important to you. And I'll admit you were important to him as well." A lighting lit up the room, before the electricity went off. I looked for a candle, as he still spoke. "And there wasn't no other possible way to see you again. You wouldn't had followed Anthea in a car once again. And you wouldn't had accepted to meet me in some public place. You don't go out that much, do you?" He nodded to himself, taking his umbrella. "So what was better than faking to be Sherlock? You surely would had run to this place to meet your lovebird." I lit up a candle. He wore his overcoat and nodded in farewell. "Mr. Watson." He made his way to the door. I had no strength to talk back. Every word I wanted to say, kept struggling to make its way out, with no result. Finding Mycroft there instead of Sherlock had blocked my atoms. "Not so fast, Mycroft." A voice said from downstairs. His pale blue eyes were glowing in the dark, lit up by short lightings. That voice, I could recognize it among a crowd. Mycroft widened his eyes so similar to those glowing in the dark, at the end of the stairs. I froze and threw myself on the couch, staring at the wide nothing. My face lit up by the candle next to me. He was _really_ back. I wasn't that wrong in the end. Mycroft breathed in, as if he wanted to talk, but he didn't say a word. His umbrella fell off his hands as the owner of the pale blue eyes made his way upstairs taking each step slowly, so slowly it seemed an eternity. The umbrella rolled over at my feet. Mrs. Hudson lost control of her cup of tea. It fell to the floor, breaking into a million little pieces, tea stains on the floor and the walls. As soon as the man arrived at the top of the stairs, right to the front door where Mycroft and I were, I was now staring at him. 6.04 ft. Curly hair. Pale blue eyes. Same dark blue scarf. His black suit, white shirt, covered by his coat. Two tone-black and grey gloves made from 100% leather. Black leather shoes. Regular Sherlock. A part from the fact last time I had seen Sherlock, was while he was face down the sidewalk. Mycroft thought he couldn't afford a confront with his no-more-dead brother. He managed to get his umbrella and ran off, taking his hat off in farewell at a still shocked Mrs. Hudson. He then got into Anthea's car and commanded to drive away. Sherlock took his coat and gloves off, placing them on the hanger, so naturally. Of course he hadn't come back from the _Afterlife. _He had always stayed alive. It was _me_ who found it all so bloody strange. Sherlock poured himself some tea in a cup and sat on the couch. Hand in hand as he usually does when he thinks. I did nothing but stare. I didn't know what to say or what to do. The electricity came back. We both blew on the candle and that made me giggle a bit. He showed a hint of a smile. "John." He finally said, I looked up at him. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, was real. "Have you seen some gh… oh wait. It feels like that, doesn't it?"


	4. Where were you when I was lost?

He kept on staring. Now I was wishing I could stop the time. Freeze him and me together. "Sherlock." I finally said, spelling his name as if it were the first time I heard it. He nodded, then stood up. "You lost some ounces, John. Clear sign you haven't been eating. Your shaky hand is back again, ugh. You didn't do _that _much in the last… three months, did you? You miss being on the field. Clean shoes, you haven't left your house too much. Your phone, there on the table shows even more signs of a drinking habit. You've started drinking. Why? Because people with a lower Q.I. than mine usually say they drown their pain in the alcohol. Useless. Alcohol makes you feel worse. Hangovers. My bedside was always messed up. Of course you've been sleeping in my bed but not regularly. Means you've gotten drunk so much you couldn't remember where you lived but not on regular basis. You didn't come back here, of course. Your stuff is still all around the place. If you had moved out, you had took your belongings with you. Plus, _my _belongings are not even here. Lestrade had sent them back here but you didn't live here so they _must _be at your new place. You've got dark circles. Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares? Can't be something else but nightmares. You've dropped going to the therapist. Bad decision. She could had helped. You used to work, but then you took some days off. No. Better. Your boss gave you some days off. You wouldn't leave work if it kept your mind away from _the fall. _But your boss, clearly a woman because she has feelings, gave you some days of sick leave. You haven't been dating someone, or you'd take care of your personal hygiene. You smell like a wet dog and you grew a monster on your upper lip. Cut it off." He then caught his breath and sat back again, assuming his usual _'thinker pose'_. I widened my eyes, looking at every single movement he made as he spoke. Once he was done, I smiled a little. I had missed _everything _of Sherlock. But what I was missing the most, were his deduction skills. "That was amazing. As usual, I'll admit. But I have a question." He nodded in approval "How the bloody hell did you survive? I saw you falling, Sherlock." I stood up. "I saw your landing on the sidewalk." I said, pointing outside the window, indicating the sidewalk. "I've felt your un-existent pulse." I was now indicating him with my left index. "I was at _your _burial!" I spelled each word slowly. "I've cried at your gravestone!" I sat down again. Head in my hands. "Have you let it all out, John?" I nodded, not lifting my head up. "What's your theory?" I lifted my head, looking up at him "_My_ theory, Sherlock?" I frowned "My bloody theory is that I thought you _were_ dead and now you _are_ alive." He took his shoes off, laying down on his back. "Death." He shook his head. "You're so afraid by Death you can't even accept someone manages to win over it. Anyways. There's a box under your bed. That's for you. I know today is your... birthday!" he smiled. I smiled back. After all, I thought I was going to forgive him for not giving me any news of him until that day. My birthday. I actually had forgot it was my birthday. I was so overwhelmed by sadness I had forgot. I walked up to my bedroom and tasted the box under the bed before taking it out. _"What is it?"_ , I thought. I opened it and with a smile I discovered it was a new laptop. I wanted to buy one myself but I never told him. How the bloody hell did he know? I smiled. "Thanks, Sherlock. I want.." he interrupted me. "I know. You wanted to buy one yourself. You know me, John. You shouldn't be _that_ surprised. Like it? I'm not really a good intender of those… things. I've just asked for the best laptop. They gave me this." "It's.. it's perfect! Really, thank you!" He stood up and walked towards me. "Alright. Let's get rid of the sweetness and get back to action. Want to?" I nodded, placing the laptop on the table "Oh God yes." He found his coat and his shoes. "Let's go. It's all about us against the others, Watson." I chuckled. He suddenly looked up at me as he was sitting, wearing his shoes. "You know, John. We didn't see each other in a while… I thought you were taller." I rolled my eyes giggling and we went out the building. Mrs. Hudson was still all shocked. Froze on the couch. We both shrugged and called a taxi. "So, what's the case about?" I asked. He looked at me "I haven't the faintest. Haven't been reading the papers lately. It bores me." I nodded, opening the cab door "Great.. I guess?" he got in after me and strapped himself in. "New Scotland Yard, please", he said. "We're going to meet Lestrade?" He nodded, taking his gloves off. "It's been a long time we didn't meet. We've to catch up. And… I have to tell him how wrong he was." "In what regard, sorry?". He smiled. His cheekbones became a little red. "By thinking I was enjoying a ride in the Afterlife." We stopped at our destination and we both got off, making our ways upstairs.


End file.
